


Come Bring Me a Dream

by Coprolite



Category: B.A.P
Genre: M/M, incubus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-01 03:25:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14511507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coprolite/pseuds/Coprolite
Summary: Youngjae has an incubus problem.





	Come Bring Me a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 6/3/17

It happened again.

 

He had that dream. The one he’s had every night this week. It’s so vivid that it makes him wretch. Ordinarily, dreams fade. But this one, this one stays, lingering on his mind and body, reinforced night after night.

 

The setting doesn’t change, happening in his static bedroom. It all starts the same. He’s lying in bed, on the boundaries of sleep. That near equilibrium where realities blur and his thoughts come and go in seconds of fleetingness.

 

His room is a dark blue along with his skin. Sometimes it’s slow and other times rapid. He can never quite tell when his breathing shifts. It coincides with his heart rate.

 

Ba-bump.

 

Ba-bump.

 

Ba-bump.

 

Bump.

 

Bump.

 

Bump.

 

(It goes bump in the night.)

 

There’s a hand on his throat. It’s soft like velvet but the grip it has on him differs, as if a tightly constricting scarf. It caresses its way down his body to the hem of his shirt. These airy touches cause goosebumps to arise along his skin.

 

It’s like he’s sedated, content to having his body explored. Through hazy eyes, he looks up to a handsome figure with hooded lids. His features are angular, a striking contrast to his own gentle curves. He lifts a weak hand to push away the stranger, but the scent of his peppermint breath intoxicates him.

 

He inhales him as he’s kissed almost to the point of near suffocation. Their lips meld together like enzymes to a substrate. He can’t keep himself from responding––to reacting. His clothes are stripped away and no part of his exposed body is left unkissed. The part of him which has succumbed to the carnal pleasure basks in the attention showered upon him like a gift.

 

His back arches off the bed as the enticing man above him teases his begging and strained cock.

 

Youngjae’s tongue curls into a whisper of a name he doesn’t know, but struggles to moan. Instead, he’s left to whine incoherently as his member is stroked slowly with the deliberate ease of teasing. He’d beg if his mind were capable of formulating words like more, faster, and oh god yes. They're a garble of wanton pants.

 

His sigh decompresses into a whimper when the lip-biting, toe curling sensation is stripped away from him. However, the finger circling around down his lower-half afterwards is a welcomed substitution. His body shifts to meet the hand and it adjusts itself to accommodate the foreign intrusion. And then two of them. Then three. All the way until he has a throbbing cock in him cause the fingers just won’t satisfy him the way this does anymore.

 

The back of his head smothers against the cotton pillow. His breathless gasps can’t keep up with his need for air. His chest rises and falls rapidly. He isn’t used to every part of him being set on fire as if he were able to melt the wrinkled sheets beneath him.

 

Actually, perhaps it’s the room around him that is burning. Everything is so hot. Bodies can’t generate this much heat. The room has to be on fire; it's the only explanation. And if that were the case, he’s not sure he would notice or care amongst all the sensations.

 

He wants his body gripped and rammed, to have bruises appear in the morning around where his hips were held in place. If his neck were a macrame of purple and deep blues, it wouldn’t even be enough. Bite him by the lips—scar him.

 

Deeper, harder.

 

And then he wakes up, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, counting the cracks and trying to find some pattern to the plaster. He needs to calm his heart rate and find a way to shake such vivid dreams out of his head before he goes mad.

 

Youngjae goes to the bathroom and splashes water upon his face. The reflection in the mirror shows a boy drained of energy. Great, now he needs to get ready for his classes.

 

He goes through the day trying not to be reminded of his dream the prior night, like he’s been trying to do for the past few weeks. But sometimes he’ll be having a conversation with one of his friends and notice how strong their hands look and how great it would feel wrapped around him. He usually excuses himself during these times.

 

He’s tried to avoid these dreams by staying up for long nights, blasting music through his headphones. He wants to reach that edge of consciousness where his head can hit the pillow and let everything be a beautiful blackout. No memories or dreams. But so far all it seems to do is actually worsen the god forsaken hallucinations. Those nights feel rougher and almost visceral, with the dream feeling as if it would never end, like his body would be drained and used raw.

 

Vaguely he’s complained to his friends about these sleepless nights, leaving out rather large details, simplifying the matter to just not being able to rest due to odd dreams. Mostly he’s neglected to tell them of the man that appears during these times and how he sees his face often while awake, too. It’ll be when he’s ordering coffee at the cafe and the cashier has the same handsome face with that meticulous mole dabbed by the corner of his eye. He sees him while walking down busy intersections, only to turn around and find him vanished.

 

“Just get some sleeping medication,” his friends dismiss at him, as if he hasn’t already tried more than a dozen over the counter brands.

 

“Therapy?” they ask. But Youngjae wasn’t stressed about anything until these occurrences in the night began. He’s not repressing stuff. He thinks.

 

“Sleep paralysis?” Yet he’s followed all the instructions for preventing it and he doesn’t exhibit the right signs: he can move, speak, even be consciously aware for the most part. It just feels like he’s awake.

 

“How about––a psychic?” they suggested lamely, having run out of ideas. And so has Youngjae himself, which is how he finds himself seated in a plush loveseat in a room of incense. His reflection looks back exasperatedly through a crystal ball.

 

The medium takes her seat, the sleeves of her long satin robe draping down over her hands. She gives him a glance. She looks like something out of a movie. Youngjae surveys the room wondering when a snow white owl will descend upon the them with his invitation to a wizarding school.

 

When that part seems like a dud, he instead anticipates a large puff of smoke to complete her entrance. But nothing, just careful examination of his character. “You haven’t been able to sleep well, have you?” she observes.

 

Youngjae chuckles, “Are the bags under my eyes that obvious?”

 

She shakes her head, clicking her tongue, “No, no. However, your friend did give me some brief insight on your situation. You look like the kind of person a succubus would attach themselves to…” she trails off.

 

Youngjae blinks, “Meaning?”

 

“Handsome and young,” she smiles. “Has it been a long time since your last encounter?” she asks, hands folded beneath her chin.

 

“No, I actually dreamt of him the other night,” Youngjae licks his lips.

 

He’s actually talking to a scammer about his “sleeping problems.” He expected something about his chakra being out of order or something, nothing quite like a supernatural monster haunting him. He’s going to kill Himchan for suggesting this place (“She reads my palm all the time! She’s amazing, Youngjae. I wish she were my grandma.”)

 

“Him?” she emphasizes with a raised brow, the wrinkles of her face sag, “You have an incubus visiting you and often it seems? That’s quite abnormal,” she comments, looking into Youngjae’s eyes. “Listen closely, young man. Continued contact with this being can be detrimental to your health, and by the looks of it, you’re already suffering from the symptoms,” she pauses. “Typically, incubi aren’t known to target men, in fact, they hate it and avoid it. I do not know why this particular one has attached itself to you,” she furrows her brow.

 

Youngjae chews on his bottom lip.

 

“There are some options for you, but I would say the best one would be to move out of your current home. If that is too extreme, try staying elsewhere for a month. It might deter it from visiting you and find a new person to leech off of.”

 

Perhaps Youngjae should visit a psych ward and legitimately consider an evaluation. He thinks this as he packs a suitcase with clothes. Yongguk and Himchan had agreed he could stay on their couch for about a week or so because apparently “you look like shit.” While in reality he’s way beyond that point and has ascended into a new plane of fucking deranged.

 

Youngjae’s curled up in a blanket on the couch and still experiences the ghosting of fingertips alongside him. He shivers and wonders if tonight will be different. His eyes feel sunken into his head. The underparts to his eyes drag down his face.

 

Yongguk brings him a warm glass of milk before bed, “Have you thought about doing a sleep study at a clinic?”

 

Youngjae holds the soothing mug in his hands, “I’ll consider it if this week goes poorly. Thanks,” he places the cup on the coffee table, “Night, ‘Guk.”

 

“Night.”

 

Youngjae sleeps well for the first time in a week or so. He smiles at his temporary roommates at the breakfast table. They chatter and compliment him on his complexion looking a bit brighter. It’s great. They have a good breakfast.

 

The sun shines outside, making his walking commute to his classes a pleasant ease. He doesn’t think about his night terrors, having it almost seemingly forgotten in general. All he needed was a change in scenery, honestly. Perhaps the medium’s words were influencing him like a placebo effect. Regardless, he feels pretty dumb in believing a sexual demon was stalking him––

 

A blur of a shadow metamorphosizes in the corner of his eye. He twists and for a second he sees the monster from his dreams. But the longer he stares, the quicker he can decipher the differences in features between the passerby and the thing. He’s hallucinating.

 

But he got a full eight hours of sleep last night.

 

Youngjae presses his his hand against his forehead, feeling his temperature. Pedestrians step around him as he stands stalled in the middle of the busy street. And each boy appears to look like it until they come fully into view.

 

The rest of the way to his class is spent with his gaze fixed firmly to the pavement below himself. He flinches at every stranger with brown hair and broad shoulders.

 

And he later avoids eye contact with the cashier when purchasing Advil for his headache. Youngjae’s hands feel clammy while paying for his medication, hardly able to swallow the obstruction in his throat as he tries to process the uncanny features. He stares down at his fingers and not the person in front of him, but it’s like a car crash he can’t veer away from.

 

“Did you find everything okay?” The cashier offers a boyish grin, one that seems perfected through the years.

 

“Thank you, yes,” Youngjae rambles, his voice faint as he’s already run half way out of the store with bag in hand. The pills rattle in their canister, accentuating each frantic step.

 

He tries not to think of the way the boy’s smile raised his cheeks and offset the mole by his dark eyes.

 

Youngjae wishes he could rip his heart out of his chest to rid himself of the insufferable beating. However, judging by the pounding, it might burst out on its own before he actually loses his patience. He’d probably stomp on it for good measure and let the concrete imprint itself on the tender muscle.

 

Losing himself on his thoughts of self-mutilation distracts him from worrying about what tonight might hold and whether or not he is in definite need of psychiatric care. They’re just nightmares. Big deal, he scoffs.

 

He sleeps well again that second night.

 

As does the third.

 

There seems to have been a shift. His nights have become calm and full of sleep while his waking life is spent cowering around each man. It is everywhere. It sits next to him in his lectures. It smiles at him in line to buy coffee. It follows him.

 

The hourly toll of the campus’ bell tower alerts him to the end of his class. His notebook sticks to his cheeks as he lifts his head up, eyes still bleary. He was too afraid to sleep last night. He buried himself into the couch’s cushions, feeling exposed in the large living room. As if something may crawl out from beneath the couch and envelop him.

 

He waits for the room to empty out, not wanting to make any eye contact with others. They all look like the man of his dreams. He flinches when they even just glance in his general direction.

 

Youngjae takes out his phone to distract himself as he makes his way down the hall. He treads towards the seldom used fire-escape stairway. It adds another couple minutes towards his commute to biology class but it’s worth it being freed from the chains of a crowd.  

 

He wonders if Yongguk would allow him to share his bed tonight, it would make him feel more secure knowing someone else were with him. If he had the nightmare, maybe he could wake him up. He’ll lie though and just say the couch was giving him back problems.

 

The buddy system sounds good.

 

The aged stairs creak as he descends them. He hears each one as they wrap themselves down in a rigid spiral. He’s so far up, it’s difficult to see the floor. Unlike the other busy stairwell, this one has no windows. The only lighting comes from that of the yellow fluorescent bulbs.

 

Youngjae takes another step but instead of the weak sound of metal bending, he hears a whistle. It continues for sometime after the stairs should have settled. The melody raises goosebumps along his skin. He feels like his heart may stop. Part of him wants to curl up into a ball and block everything out, but the adrenaline kicks in and he’s racing down the steps.

 

He’s already cleared a flight with the frantic drum of his feet pounding against metal when he trips on something. Most likely his feet, but he isn’t certain. He’s plummeting down when a set of strong arms catch him. Like a cornered cat he’s scrambling away, but like a good boy he’s kept in his place.

 

There’s the overwhelming smell of peppermint.

 

Youngjae wonders if he’s dreaming.

 

A pair of soft lips descend upon his, ones that Youngjae his kissed a dozen times over. He can hardly catch his breath between each kiss as their lips brush and crush against each other from one second to the next. Teeth nip on his adam’s apple and then his clavicle.

 

He shuts his eyes, unwilling to view the handsome image before him. He doesn’t want to remember the color of the beautiful bronze skin or the sharp hazel eyes which peer through him. But the tighter he shuts his eyes, the more amplified each sensation is. The growl subdued in the demon’s throat sends a wave of pleasure down him in which he wishes to suppress.

 

Youngjae groans as the thing takes a hold of both his wrists in one strong hand. He lifts them above his head as he grinds him into the wall. He can feel his erection against his. Youngjae’s jeans squeeze against him, hurting him.

 

The moans Youngjae lets out echoes. He gasps and pants and wants. Has it already been almost a week since he’d last had a nightly visit? Since he’d been fucked hard?

 

His mind is a white hot blank as the rough hand dives beneath the band of his pants and underneath his briefs. Fingers wrap around Youngjae’s member and he’s pleading. He bucks himself into the grip. Back and forth. The man doesn’t make a gesture to move, allowing Youngjae to fuck himself against his hand.

 

His body is a burning pulsation.

 

Youngjae doesn’t know when his hands have been freed, but when he realizes they are already gripped tightly to the man’s shoulders as he continually thrusts himself against him. There it is again, that name Youngjae wants to scream but his mind can’t form. “Oh, god, I’m going to come,” he whimpers, “F-fuck,”

 

Youngjae aches and it’s his release which relieves him, “Ah-ah, Daehyun,” Youngjae whines the new name, surprising even himself.

 

Daehyun flips him around, pulling down Youngjae’s jeans and then his own. He feels the head of his cock prodding his hole before it slides in. Youngjae thought it would hurt, but it doesn’t. All he feels his pleasure and he wants more like some addict on a high. Needy tears stream down his face.

 

His head knocks against the side of the wall with each thrust. In. Out. In. Out. He’s filled completely to the brim and he can’t believe he can take so much cock. This is better than any previous dream. Why would he ever try to get rid of something which provides such pure ecstasy in his life.

 

Daehyun pulls completely out before slamming right back inside with such a harsh force that it pounds against Youngjae’s prostate.

 

“Fuck! Right there, again, please,” he begs.

 

Daehyun obliges and fucks him senseless again and again. He doesn’t lose stamina while Youngjae feels like his legs may give out. Youngjae’s sweating.

 

All he can smell is the peppermint.

 

Youngjae’s orgasm comes to him in a brilliant explosion, some time before Daehyun’s.

 

He loves the feeling of cum filling him up and slowly dripping out. Youngjae falls to the floor, gazing upon the handsome, rugged, dashing, and any other word history books have used to describe beautiful features, man (none of them do Daehyun justice). He falls asleep from pure exhaustion.

 

“Good night, Youngjae.”


End file.
